Fire On The Ice
by EvilIsntBorn337
Summary: Was Fire In My Heart and Ice In My Veins. Promising young goalie Emma Swan was kicked out of her league for getting caught in conjunction with a crime she didn't commit, and the game she loved became part of her past. 10 years later it finds her again in the form of NHL forward Killian Jones who reminds her of the things she thought she could never have - both in hockey and in life
1. Chapter 1

There were three minutes left in the third period and the ice was a mess of sticks and skates and adrenaline as both teams hovered in the centre of the rink, the puck traded back and forth too often to stay at either end of the rink for too long. Emma wished that the other team could hold onto the puck long enough to fire a goal at her net, waste the dwindling seconds in the 2-1 game setting up the shot, just so she could shut it out like she had been all night and cement this win - and a spot in the playoffs - for her team.

They had started the season with no wins to their name but something had clicked in that first month and they had been steadily climbing through the ranks to get to this game. In all the years Emma had been playing she had never been on a team _close_ to the playoffs but now that she was...

Yes, it was an honour to even make it this far, but despite being her first time on the cusp of the playoffs she found that the sheer _possibility_ of winning was a taste she couldn't get out of her mouth. She was still and silent as she watched the scuffle steadily seeping over the blue line and ever-closer to her, eyes tracking the puck as it bounced between teams until finally the opposing centre caught it in the curve of her stick, and Emma knew it was coming. Their opponents were good, and the girl coming down the ice fast and hard with the puck was one of their best.

But Emma was better.

From her spot steady and solid in the crease, she saw the tilt of the other girl's chin as she looked up to the top left corner of the net, the way her right shoulder pulled slightly back in preparation for the shot she hadn't started yet, the way she wasn't coming at the net quiet as aggressively as she had been a moment before in preparation for the stop she had to make.

The puck came in fast, and the line was perfect - straight and true and with enough force behind it to punch the net hard if it got past her - but Emma's had been in place the moment the puck left the ice and even though it only took a fraction of a second to make its journey, there was never a chance that it would land anywhere other than in the pocket of her glove.

There were thirty seconds left but there wasn't going to be another chance to sink a shot in goal - Emma wasn't going to _let_ there be - and though the last half-minute played out as intensely as the rest of the game had, Emma could see the smiles that were overflowing from her team's faces.

When the buzzer sounded, there was only the space of a breath before Emma's team collided in their end of the rink, gloves and helmets and padding crushed together in a knot of arms reaching for arms and incredulous laughter because they had _finally_ done it. _Playoffs_.

After a triumphant return to the changeroom and perhaps one too many refrains of off-key _We Are The Champions_ considering they had a long way to go before they won the whole thing, Emma trudged down the dim hall of the arena with her hockey bag hitting her in the backs of the knees and her still-sweaty ponytail tangling around the strap slung over her shoulder. She was bone-tired in a way she only ever was after _especially_ good games, but there was still a buzz of euphoria making her fingers tingle and her lips spread in a smile.

Neal was waiting for her in the parking lot, leaning against the yellow Bug by the back door like he always was after her games. She hadn't been sure if he had been able to make it to the actual game or not, but when he saw her his smile stretched wide and triumphant and she knew. Then her bag slid heavily to the ground as he caught her in his arms, and she pulled him into a kiss that was slightly too enthusiastic and slightly too rough but she didn't care because the win was still fresh and the exhaustion fell away at the prospect of a victory dinner and whatever came after.

"Pasta." She said when she pulled away for a breath, tilting her head up to look into his eyes that sparkled with pride - pride for something _she_ had done. "I want lots of pasta because I am _starving._ "

"You earned all the pasta in Italy after tonight." He laughed, the sound light and airy, and then gathered her close again to murmur, "God, that was a beautiful save, Em."

"You're just saying that because it's me." She muttered with a smile, shoving him away playfully and hoisting her bag off the ground. He caught her around the waist for a brief moment as she was wrestling the back into the narrow back seat of the Bug, and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck before circling around to the driver's side.

"I'm saying that because it's true." He said. She knew he was telling the truth about it - Neal had played right up until he aged out of the youth leagues, and now he was playing defense at the collegiate level, hoping for something more. A compliment from him, when it came to hockey, never meant nothing. "How's Luigi's sound for dinner? Best spaghetti in town."

"Luigi's sounds great." She swung into the passenger seat and leaned back with a happy sigh.

"Then that's the plan, champion." She could hear his smile in his voice, even as the growl of the car drowned him out. "I just have to make one quick stop first."

It was almost funny, Emma thought, the turn this night had taken.

She knew that Neal didn't come by all of his money honestly - she didn't, either. Never mind the collegiate level - even Midget hockey cost more than either of them could ever afford. So it wasn't a surprise when his "quick stop" turned out to be a felon's errand - but maybe she should have protested a bit more when he asked her to pick up his case of stolen watches from the train station.

As the lights from the police cruiser washed over her in shades of red and blue, and her eyes skimmed over the empty parking lot where Neal had been only moments ago, she thought that there were probably a lot of choices she should have made differently.

All through processing, all through endless questions that she couldn't, and wouldn't, answer - _Whose watches are these? Mine. Is there anyone you want us to call? No._ \- she counted it a blessing that Neal had taken her hockey bag when he had abandoned her. Criminals didn't get happy endings, and as she settled onto the thin mattress in a cell made of cold cinderblock, she filed hockey deep into the list of dreams that would never come true.

In her office in Boston ten years later, the low hum of sports highlights on the radio in the background - _First game of the regular season will be played tonight, and aren't you folks excited? -_ still stung, but not as much. She was used to disappointment, and what resigned acceptance didn't take away, time muted.

The veneer at the corner of her desk was peeling away, and as she toed at it absently she reasoned that the reason the bail bonds business was so slow was probably because the state of this office didn't scream _professionalism and competence_. It was cruelly ironic, really, because she couldn't do a thing about the office until she got some business.

The end of that thought was cut off by the swell of street noise as the door opened, and the man who came in seemed almost _too_ convenient - fate _would_ make this the time to start smiling on her, though one customer just as she was wishing for one was a pale consolation for all the dreams she had once had and lost.

As customers went, though, they could have been worse than the dark haired man with his leather jacket and Bruins hat, polite enough to try and shut her warped door properly before coming over.

"Just kick it at the bottom - it sticks." she said to his back, a small smile playing about her lips as he nudged it tentatively before finally giving it a solid kick that set it firmly shut. "First game of the season tonight, you know."

"What?"

Emma cut her gaze to the radio though it wouldn't serve as an explanation for him, and tapped her temple as she brought her eyes back around. "Your ha-"

She met his eyes before her sentence was truly finished, but she let the words trail off because now that she got a good look at him she knew _exactly_ who he was - who he was, where he got that hat, and that he probably knew better than she did that the first game of the season was tonight.

He was famous in the hockey world for his grace with a puck and a streak of temper that won games and landed him on the bench in equal measure, but it was what made him famous _outside_ of the hockey world that was in evidence now - slightly shaggy dark hair, a dusting of stubble along a sharp jaw, and eyes so blue they almost weren't real. This was Killian Jones, who in approximately six hours would be playing left wing on Emma's favourite team, and why the hell was he here?

"I hadn't realized." He said, his easy lie bringing her back into herself, and sank down in the chair opposite her desk. "I'm looking for some help and I think this is the right place."

"What kind of help?" She asked, shaking off her surprise. Business was business, even if he _was_ famous in a world she thought she had left far behind her.

"Someone has taken something of mine, and I'd like you to find something on him - something discrete, but something effective."

"You want to blackmail someone, is what you're saying." She said flatly.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." She leaned forward in her chair, spreading a hand flat on the desk and stifling an incredulous smile. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you that there are venues other than blackmail for getting results - people you can talk to, authorities who can help..."

"I think you missed the part about _discretion."_ He pulled off the hat and ran a hand through his mess of hair, his eyes tracing the lines of the ceiling tiles for a moment as if searching for an answer. "I need...I need all of this to happen behind the scenes. Authorities cause a commotion, and people I can talk to..." He flashed her a half-smile, and there was something sardonic about the line of it that said there was so much more here than she knew about. "We're talking right now, but if that is a mistake on my part please let me know and I'll go elsewhere."

"Listen, Mr..." She almost said his name but caught herself at the last moment, letting the silence hang until he said,

"I'd rather wait until we've figured out whether or not you can do what I'm asking, if it's all the same to you."

"Fine." She sighed. "Listen. I get discretion - I really do - but blackmail is a risky business and I think you know what you're getting yourself into."

"If there were another option, I'd take it." His eyes suddenly got very intense and she realized then that he knew _exactly_ what he was getting into - and he was very much looking forward to it. "But I know this man and I know what will work, and what I need from you is a yes or no answer and I'll be on my way. Please." He sat back as he tacked the pleasantry on the end, but there was no forgetting the drive that had been in that gaze - and the desperation behind it that she knew she wasn't meant to have seen.

"Alright." Emma spread her hands wide on the desk in a subtle surrender. "What you want is a private investigator, which I'm not - but I know a few and I can give you their cards, if you want. That's the best I can do."

"I've tried PI's." He said, grabbing her hand as it reached for the wooden box of business cards on the corner of the desk. His grip was gentle but still firm, and she caught his eyes again, a bare plea there. "None of them were right. I know that this isn't what bail bondspeople usually do but you find people, right?" She just nodded. "And to find people you have to know at least a little bit about them. This place is small and out of the way and it's perfect, and I think you could do this better than anyone, if you wanted to. So please."

It was such an earnest speech, and there was such a simple desperation in his eyes that even though she knew there were dozens of bail bonds offices in this city that he could have chosen, she was suddenly glad it was this one.

She needed the business, if nothing else.

"Alright." She said, drawing her hand back. His eyes widened, the impossible blue almost brighter with the flash of his shocked smile.

"You're sure?"

"I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't." She stood to dig in the top drawer of the filing cabinet behind her, producing a form and sliding it across the desk when she turned back around. He had stood with her, and there was something about the way that leather jacket hung from his broad shoulders as he leaned his hip against the edge of her desk... "Take this home, fill it out, and come back on Friday. Then we'll talk specifics."

"What is it?"

"Name, social security, credit card...standard stuff." She levelled a gaze at him, and even though most of his past was public thanks to his status, she knew everyone had secrets. "I'll run your name with a friend of mind in the police department, and if anything comes up, the deal's off. I don't help criminals find criminals. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am." He took the form with a goofy smile on his face - maybe it was relief or maybe he was just laughing at her - and stuck out his other hand to shake. "I look forward to working with you."

"Thanks." She shook it back, and arched an eyebrow at him. "And I think I was promised a name if I said yes."

"That you were." He dropped her hand and scooped his hat up from the seat of the chair, settling it on his head and looking up at her through his lashes in what she was sure he knew was a slightly theatrical fashion. "Killian Jones."

"I'm Emma."

"I believe I gave you both my first _and_ last name." He said, raising an eyebrow of his own.

"Emma Swan." She sat back down in her chair and he headed towards the door. Just as he opened it, he tipped the brim of his hat towards her and even though it was a baseball cap it looked suddenly very classy on him.

"Nice to meet you, Emma Swan." He exited onto the street, the hum of cars and wind enveloping him, and as the door swung shut she could just make out the words, "See you Friday."


	2. Chapter 2

Before Emma had opened her bail bonds business three years prior, she had worked the job for two years at another office and in that short time she had learned one thing: half the job was helping criminals find criminals, if you let it be. Most of her work came from courts and police precincts anyways, but there was always someone looking for a friend or lover or relative who had skipped bail and disappeared – always someone who wanted them back. And while she could usually tell when the "older brother" or "concerned best friend" was someone with a score to settle, she wasn't willing to miss the lie and end up helping a scumbag find anyone – even if that someone was a scumbag, too. That was where the background checks came in. They protected her integrity and, because she didn't do a minute of work on a case until a background check came back clean, they protected her capital – no work hours lost on a case she would later refuse to take.

Sitting in the reception area of the police station closest to her office, she reasoned with herself that it was only because she knew that Killian Jones was who he said he was that she was looking into his case before she got the form back. Besides, it was a slow day.

"Someone told me there was a dangerous criminal in here begging to be arrested." Said a voice from behind the desk. A smile was already on Emma's face when she looked up.

"I had a good run – figured it's about time I started on the straight and narrow." She stood, balancing a box of doughnuts on her palms as she held her hands out in front of her in mock surrender. The officer held open the door to the offices deeper in the precinct and plucked the doughnuts from her hands as she passed through them.

"I'll take the bribe this time, Swan, but you'd better promise to leave your criminal life behind you."

"I would, but what good is the word of a crook?" She drifted into him, nudging him with her shoulder, and was rewarded with a crushing one-armed hug.

The officer in question was David Nolan, a tall, blonde, married-to-justice type who she had met on the job. They had worked a few cases together on happenstance but soon he had started requesting her specifically for his collars and they had become friends shortly after. He still came to her with cases – and for regular dinners with his wife and young son – but he helped her more often than that to find information that didn't generally make it into case files.

"I take it by the bribe that this isn't a social call?" He said, leading her to his desk and nudging the guest chair towards her with his foot.

"Not entirely."

"Who am I looking up today?"

"This guy. And I need a background check, too." She slid a scrap of paper across the table on which she had written the name of Killian's guy, and slapped his filled out background check beside it. Killian had emailed her the form yesterday, each space filled out in precise and surprisingly lovely script, along with the name of the man he wanted information on and a short message asking her to at least get started while the background check was getting processed. She told him the same thing she told everyone – she didn't start until they were clear – but all night she had been turning the name he had sent her over in her mind. Something about his desperation when he asked her for her services was _more_ than even her most insistent clients, and besides that the name sounded almost familiar – which usually meant that he was a criminal she had seen before.

"Are you serious?" David was just staring at the two pieces of paper on the desk, his eyes darting from one to another, and when he looked up at her his expression was incredulous. "This guy," he pointed to the scrap of paper. "is the GM for the Bruins and _this guy,"_ he pointed to the form. "is their star forward. Is this a joke?"

" _That's_ their General Manager?" Emma spun the scrap of paper around to read the name again, and now that David had put the name in context, _of course_ that's who it was. The name itself, Rumple Gold, was distinctive enough that she shouldn't have missed the it, and coupled with the connection to Killian this shouldn't have been such a surprise.

"So this _isn't_ a joke."

"Not quite."

"Well, life with you is certainly never dull." He muttered. "The background check will take a few days but I can search Gold right now – see if he's in the system, at least."

"If you've got time, that would be great."

"I take it this isn't a bail bonds thing." David said as he clicked around his screen. "Because if it is, I can tell you exactly where this man will be at 7 o'clock tonight."

"It's not." Emma slid her chair over so she could see the screen and plucked a doughnut from the box as she did. "I'm just looking into something."

"Looking into something for Killian Jones?"

"You know I can't talk about my clients, David."

"You bring me a background check and a name on the same day and expect me not to draw the line between the two?" He interrupted his search to shoot a look at her. "I may not have slept a full night since the baby was born, Emma, but I'm not dim."

"Sorry." She muttered.

"You're forgiven – if only because of the doughnuts." He grinned before turning back to the screen, but it disappeared into the slight frown and furrowed brow he always wore when he was concentrating. "So, he's on here, but he's never been formally arrested. He's been implicated in some stuff but it's never stuck, and most of the accusations are personal, not necessarily legal."

"What does that mean?"

"It means he's a shady character but not a criminal." David scrolled down the page a bit, and his frown deepened. "There's a lot here – I don't have time to read through it all now, but I can print you a copy if you want."

"Bring it over if that background check comes back clean, okay?"

"Oh yeah." David spun around in his chair, his frown gone and a shit-eating grin in its place. "I thought you didn't do anything until you got this piece of paper back." He waved Killian's form in front of her face. "What's so special this time?"

"Getting you to do a two minutes search hardly counts as work." Emma stood and replaced the guest chair, arching an eyebrow at David to hopefully hide her guilty look – he was right, of course, about her work rules.

"It always has before."

"Goodbye, David." She started back towards the door, waving over her shoulder. Even though she didn't look, she could feel that knowing grin follow her the whole way.

—-

It took a day for David to get the background check back to her along with a thick file with Gold's name on the front. Killian passed the background check – she had assumed he would because the people who failed usually refused to fill it out in the first place – so she sent him a message asking him to come by when he had a chance to talk a bit more about the information he wanted her to find.

She didn't expect that he would be there that night.

It was just past eight when he came through the door, hair tangled by the wind and in that same leather jacket. "I thought you said to come in Friday."

"And I thought I said to bring your background check in person, on Friday." She arched an eyebrow at him. He nodded his concession and came to sit in the chair in front of her desk.

"I was working Friday and couldn't make it. I'm sorry."

"I wouldn't have done anything until you were cleared anyways." She shrugged.

"Oh." He fidgeted for a moment, picking at his fingernails, then looked back up at her with an expression that looked innocent in a way that was at odds with the leather and the scruff and his reputation. "Is it alright that I'm here at this hour? I work late, the nights that I'm on, and if you need my help with any of this…"

"A lot of what I do happens at night, and beyond that…I don't have a family at home, if that's what you're asking – I'm used to working late."

"You've already agreed to something beyond your normal scope of work, and I just don't want it to be an inconvenience. That's all."

"It won't be – and besides, I won't need you here for most of it, anyways. I'll grab a few details tonight and look into it on my own time. We won't need to have regular meetings, so your schedule is safe."

"Wonderful." He said – but his tone didn't match the words.

"Actually, that's why I wanted you to come in." She said. "Before I start, I need you to tell me your history with this guy, why you want me looking into him…anything that could help me."

"I already told you why." Killian sat up a bit straighter and his expression slammed shut.

"You told me he took something that belonged to you. That could mean anything."

"What else do you need to just look for information on him?"

"Something to guide what I'm looking for." She rubbed a hand over her eyes in frustration. "Whatever he took, there was probably a motive, and if you want to be persuasive when you confront him – I'm assuming that's the endgame here?" He nodded, and she continued. "You want to appeal to that motivation, and if I'm going to find something that'll do that I need a better idea of what that is. Telling me to just look for something won't get results."

"I…" He cut himself off, his eyes roaming around the office, and something about the frantic movement of them told her he was scrambling for pieces that weren't the truth. More than that, she could tell he was nervous.

Even with normal bail bonds cases, there was always a point with private clients where they questioned what they were doing – where looking for someone the way Emma did became a line they weren't sure if they were willing to cross. Right now, Killian had that exact same look on his face.

"Listen." She softened her voice and leaned forward slightly, catching his eyes again and offering him a gentle smile. "I've got at least four hours left in my night and I'm not going to get through it without a cup of coffee, so how about we go to the place on the corner so I can get my drink, and you can decide on the way if this is something you want to do."

"It is." He said immediately, standing with her as she came out from behind the desk and letting her usher him out the door before her.

"I've got nothing against you if it isn't."

"It is." He said again, shoving his hands in his pockets to protect against the wind as she locked the door. "I'm sure of that."

"Are you not sure of _me_?" She asked, and she could hear the edge in her own voice as she did. It was one thing for him to be unsure of his own choices but she was _very_ good at her job and for him to disparage that without an ounce of proof…

"No." He let the conversation dissolve into silence as they walked the short distance to the corner cafe, hovering behind her as she ordered a black coffee and ordering one for himself afterwards. She left him at the counter to go grab a table in the far corner, and he joined her a moment later with two drinks in tow.

"They said this was yours," He said, placing her drink before her. "But I didn't realize coffee came with whipped cream."

"You've got to ask for it." She pulled the mug towards her and dipped a finger in the whipped cream, upsetting the sprinkle of cinnamon on top. "It's better on hot chocolate but it's alright on coffee if you need the wake up."

"I'll have to try it sometime." He sat down opposite her with his own drink, stark and black and bitter with no whipped cream to soften the blow, and she let the silence hang for one more long moment before spreading her hands wide on the table and saying,

"So if it's me you're not sure of, then what is it?"

"Nothing." He said quickly, and it was so plainly, _obviously_ a lie that she didn't even think before snapping back,

"Do not _lie_ to me." There was acid in her voice and she could hear it, and if she hadn't kept her voice low she knew the rest of the cafe would have heard it too. Killian's eyes snapped to hers and though there was something stormy in them at her tone, he nodded once in apology.

"You are asking some very personal questions, Emma Swan, and I wasn't expecting that when I came."

"Then what were you expecting?" She waved one hand in exasperation, and now _she_ was the one having second thoughts for agreeing to this. " _You_ came to _me_ , okay? You asked me to help you and that's not something I can do unless you're willing to meet me halfway."

He nodded thoughtfully but let silence bloom between them once again, and she furiously drank half her coffee – scalding her tongue but barely feeling it because he was _infuriating_ – by the time he said, "What would halfway look like?"

"How about we start easy and you tell me what the hell he took that's worth blackmailing him for?"

Killian winced at the words but he held her gaze, and it was because he did that she got to see his eyes darken to a much more intense shade of blue, the colour matching the low and serious tone of his voice when he said, "He took something that belonged to my brother."

Something in that look and in those words told her not to push him. Not here, not now.

"So, family." She said, nodding once. "I can work with that. For now."

"That's all you need?" He leaned back and she could almost see a measure of tension leave his body.

"For now." She drained the last of her drink and pushed back from the table, and he followed her even though his own cup was still mostly full.

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'll start looking into it for now, just some preliminary stuff, but we're going to need to meet again and I'm going to need some real answers from you. So I want you to go home and think about what you're willing to tell me." She waved to the woman behind the counter and pushed through the door to the windy street, Killian close behind her.

She paused a moment on the corner, the two of them trapped together in the halo of the streetlight, and she levelled a gaze at him. There was something closed off behind his eyes, but as much as she could tell he was trying to hide it, he just looked profoundly lonely in the circle of light there with her.

"You can keep your secrets all you want, and I can keep looking for a needle in a haystack if you want me to. But if you want this to work, Killian…" She offered him a soft smile and she hoped he saw that she _did_ want this to work for him, for reasons she didn't quite understand. "At some point, Killian, you're going to have to trust me."


	3. Chapter 3

With no appointments or collars scheduled for the next day, Emma brought the file David had given her home and opted to keep the office shut the following day, instead settling into the corner of her couch that evening to flip through the information on Gold. David hadn't been kidding about the file: though it wasn't comical in size, it was certainly meaty for a man who had never been arrested. He hadn't even necessarily been brought into the station more than once or twice, but there were notes upon notes throughout the file where his name had come up again and again on cases large and small. Since starting in bail bonds, Emma had seen similar files, and they usually pointed to someone who had done _something_ wrong at one point or another, if not legally then morally.

More than that, files like this usually meant that those people were very hard to do anything about.

As she flipped through the reports and pages of notes, she tried not to profile Gold, but it wasn't easy. Between the years-old domestic disturbance call to his home that never turned into anything, to the more recent claims of bribery and extortion, to Killian's vague reason for hiring her in the first place...it didn't paint a compelling picture of the man. But she had found out the hard way that it was harder to find the truth about a person when she had to fight her own perceptions along the way, so she flipped the folder shut with a sigh and slid it onto the coffee table. She could come back to it later when she was ready to be neutral about whatever she saw.

She thought for a moment about starting to see what she could find out about Killian's brother without having to ask Killian himself - there was clearly a connection there, even if it only went as far as the item Gold had allegedly taken - but instead she pulled the TV Guide off the table and flipped through it until she found today's date. She made a strict point of avoiding the sports channels around this time of year, but she couldn't think about this assignment without thinking about Killian walking through the door that first day with his Bruins hat, without thinking of the world she had left behind and what could have been, and without wondering how someone signed to a multi-million dollar contract ended up in a one-room office buried deep in Boston's downtown.

It took her a moment to find the channel, and another to convince herself that she wasn't breaking her own rules, and then her screen was streaked with the black and yellow of Boston's away jerseys and the brilliant red of the New Jersey Devils' defensemen crowding the goal crease. This wasn't her world anymore, and she couldn't let herself get involved again - even as a spectator - but still she fell into the game for those few seconds when what seemed like the entirety of both teams was crowded around the net, when she could almost hear the scuffle of skate blades against the ice and sticks cracking against each other, when she could picture so clearly, even now, the way the Boston goalie's nerves must have been singing, adrenaline shooting down to his fingertips as he spread himself wide across the net to catch the puck between his leg and the goalpost inches before it would have been a goal.

The commentators reviewing the save and the play that led up to it started right up, talking over the replay, but they couldn't quite drown out the sound of the fans cheering and jeering in equal turns, and she was on her couch in her same apartment, the same place she had been for years, a place that hockey had never even touched, but ten seconds of play and she felt _alive_.

They were back in play soon enough, and it was then that she spotted Killian. Outside of the scuffle, he was unmistakable: solid and strangely graceful as he tore down the ice. This, she reminded herself, was why she had turned the game on in the first place: research, because Killian was frustratingly cagey about anything that could be considered a _detail_ , and because she needed to know something about him and his relationship with Gold if she was going to find anything worthwhile - even if all she found out was that Killian moved across a rink with single-minded purpose and that he never faltered even as he had to rapidly change course to follow the puck as it shot past him back towards his own net, or that he was number 46 and that the white jersey made the black of his hair peeking out from under his helmet all the more striking, or that when he caught a pass from the opposite side, he shot left when he fired it at the net. Or that he had a good eye for the trajectory of the puck, and that the New Jersey goalie didn't have a chance against him.

Which was to say that he was determined and uncompromising, which was nothing she didn't know about him already.

She watched Killian team crowd together to the side of the net, all back slapping hugs and brief celebration even though it was the middle of the second period and a lot could happen between now and the end of the game. Even though Killian was still in-frame, she couldn't lie to herself anymore and say that this was just research. She wanted to turn the game off but, more than that, she wanted to turn on three games consecutively and fill the whole apartment with the sounds of skates and fans and calls across the ice because she had _missed_ -

No. No, she had not _missed_ anything. She had left that part of her life behind her because it wasn't meant for her. Not anymore. And because the things that made her heart sing and her blood rush through her veins in anticipation were not things that she could entertain because they were not things that would ever happen. Not for her. So no, she hadn't missed anything. No, following the puck as it raced across the screen didn't make her feel warm and whole and _home._ No, she didn't wonder _what if_ and no, she didn't run that night with Neal through her mind over and over again and wish to turn back time. No to all of it, because it didn't touch her, didn't mean anything, didn't _matter_.

She turned off the TV and closed her eyes, and tried not to think about how the sudden silence in the room was so like the hush that fell over an arena just before a particularly important shot.

It wasn't that she blamed this sudden lapse on Killian, but she was starting to think that this was going to end up being a lot less straightforward than she might have hoped.

* * *

She was back in the office two days later and she hadn't been expecting him, but just as the clock was edging towards five, Killian blew through the door. It slammed against the back wall as he flung it open, and he let it, storming towards her with that same purpose she had seen on the ice. His expression was furious and awful, and she could tell that he had something on his mind because he was wearing a Bruins sweatshirt with his name and number stitched on the arm and his hair was damp from either a shower or, more likely, a team practice he hastily left.

"And hello to you too." She said, raising an eyebrow as he stopped in front of the desk and leaned over, bracing his hands on the surface.

"He's selling it."

"What?"

"Selling it." His eyes were deep blue and snapping with rage, and they were terrifying to look at but Emma also found that she couldn't look away. "My brother's...he's selling it."

"Slow down. Who are we talking about?"

"Who... _Gold_! Who bloody else would I be talking about?" He snapped.

"Hey." Emma stood, leaning against the edge of the desk to mirror him, and he blinked once in surprise but didn't move. "You don't get to talk to me like that, angry or not, alright? I don't need this job and you're _very_ lucky I'm still agreeing to it considering how unhelpful _you've_ been." He bobbed a nod and he opened his mouth to say something, but she waved the words off. "And didn't you know he was going to sell it when you came in here? What did you _think_ he was going to do that got you fired up enough to ask me to help you blackmail him?"

"Just him having it..." Killian said, and he didn't need to complete the thought for her to know how much it killed him that anyone, and this man in particular, had something of his family's. "Part of me knew he was going to get rid of it eventually, but to be doing it for _profit_..." He straightened and pulled a rough hand through his hair, chewing his bottom lip for a moment as a storm passed over his face. "You should have heard this conversation he was having with some bloke from New York - talking about price and bidders and _value._ Like what it's worth can be measured in dollars. And he's drumming up a bloody _bidding war_ and there is _nothing_ I can do unless you find something I can use." He stabbed a finger in her direction, and she knew he didn't mean for it to be aggressive but his anger was seeping into every gesture and as much as she didn't want it to, it was getting to her.

"How am I supposed to find anything on him when you won't give me a single fucking detail?" She growled. "This. Takes. Time. I told you that. I am not magic and until you're willing to do your part you're going to have to get used to the idea that he could scoop whatever the hell it is right out from under you while I'm still digging through piles of information that don't mean anything without a shred of fucking _context_. So don't come in here demanding things until you're willing to own up to what you _won't_ do."

"I-"

"Save it." She said. "How about you do something productive and tell me _what_ it is he's about to sell that you're so worked up about?"

He opened his mouth but closed it again abruptly, and the silence hung in the charged space between them as he stared at her. Emma could feel something building in her chest - fire and frustration and anger because it looked like he was deciding whether or not to lie to her and she had _told him_ -

"I'll show you." He said suddenly, turning brusquely on his heel and storming out of her office without giving her a chance to respond. She stared after him for a moment, let the blinds on the door stop shaking, then pushed off the desk with a long-suffering sigh - long-suffering and she had only known him a _week_ \- hastily locked the door behind her, and jogged across the street to where he was parked.

"You realize when you want a person to follow you you generally _ask_ them?" She called as he swung into the driver's seat.

"I knew you'd figure it out." He had the key in the ignition and the car growling before she even had her hand on the passenger door, and she barely had a chance to settle into her seat and close the door behind her before he pulled away from the curb. It wasn't a tires-squealing getaway, but it was abrupt and too fast to fit under the mantle of _casual drive_.

She was expecting something as they drove along - maybe not an explanation but a bit of background, a few details to frame wherever it was he was taking her, or at the very least more ranting. But all there was was the same tense silence that had snapped between them in the office, his eyes glued to the road outside the windshield. There was something in his expression, though, that made her think whole worlds were playing out in his mind and it was just her he was choosing to keep them from.

It was only after a fifteen minute drive, as they pulled into a parking space under TD Garden, that she realized how little she had thought about jumping in the car with him when he had asked, about how she had trusted him - she, who trusted _nobody_ \- and now they were underneath Boston's biggest arena and she had no idea why. He didn't stop to explain, though, just striding towards an elevator in the corner, completely silent on the ride up half a dozen levels, and leading her down a carpeted hallway lined with doors to corporate lounges and plush box seats.

He stopped in front of a frame on the wall, and it took her a fraction of a second before she understood completely - the white and yellow stripes, the serious black of the Bruins home jersey, the name _Jones_ emblazoned on the back, the number that wasn't his...

He reached up to trace the edge of the frame with a shaking hand he didn't - _couldn't_ \- hide, and every thought she had on the way here about his ridiculous theatrics flew from her mind. He didn't bring her here because showing her this jersey would be more dramatic than just telling her in her office - she saw now in his unsteady hand and clouded eyes and the heavy swallow that bobbed in his throat that he brought her here because he _couldn't_ have told her.

"He wants to sell it." Killian ground out, his voice still rough and full of fire, and there was something in his eyes - deep, deep in the blue of them - that she had never seen before, not even when he had walked into her office and said these words the first time.

She didn't answer because there were no words for this, and let her gaze slide back over to the framed jersey instead. It took seeing the jersey to put two and two together, but she should have known who he was talking about the moment he walked through her door and said _brother_. Liam Jones, number 35. Emma didn't _know him_ know him, but she remembered Liam Jones from when she was young: drafted early, insanely talented, a gentleman on the ice but ruthless with the puck, and one of the youngest Captains in NHL history, Liam Jones had been the kind of player everyone she knew aspired to be. She had been in and out of prison and well out of the hockey world when he had died, but she remembered that, too.

Mostly she remembered turning on the news that night and seeing on every station the same shot of the cavernous arena filled to the brim with fans in black and yellow, and a much younger Killian standing in the middle of the rink as they retired his brother's number - surrounded by thousands of people but so unmistakably alone.

She could see Killian chewing the inside of his cheek next to her, trying to form an explanation that would tell her why this possession among anything that had once been his brother's was one that he wanted - _needed_ \- to keep.

He couldn't know it, but Emma didn't need him to explain to her how much a player's number became a part of them, or how well she knew how this jersey was a piece of his brother that represented everything he had worked for and created in his short time, or how much Killian _needed_ to keep this.

She kept her eyes on the frame but let her hand settle gently on his arm, saying-without-saying that she didn't need an explanation - that she understood, that she would help, that she was _there_.

She stole a glance at Killian out of the corner of her eye, and he was still just staring at the jersey - something she imagined he did a lot, something she imagined he _needed_.

This changed things. Whatever Killian did or didn't tell her about Gold or the situation or the history behind it all, she would find a way to keep this one thing where it was meant to be: here.


End file.
